


Guardian

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-15
Updated: 2006-06-15
Packaged: 2018-09-03 04:45:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8697055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: Eighth in the Things My Brother Taught Me series. Warnings: Wincest, strong language, Sam and John knocking heads, references to underage sex but no actual scenes (not that it makes things any less squicky to those who would be squicked--be warned, you know who you are), a detonated hell hound, a dramatic shower scene (sans the psycho killer in drag) and a walk-on role by Barbara Eden.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Guardian

Title: Guardian  
Author: Hellskitten  
Email: crissyd33@yahoo.com   
Fandom: Supernatural  
Pairing: S/D  
Rating: NC-17   
Warnings: Wincest, strong language, Sam and John knocking heads, references to underage sex but no actual scenes (not that it makes things any less squicky to those who would be squicked--be warned, you know who you are), a detonated hell hound, a dramatic shower scene (sans the psycho killer in drag) and a walk-on role by Barbara Eden.   
Spoilers: Some but this is mostly AU. This is the next section of my series and picks up right after the story entitled “Sacrament”. All can be found at my LJ in Memories in reading order.   
Disclaimer: The boys and all their angst-ridden hotness belong to the WB—for now.  
Soundtrack: “Black Dog” by Led Zeppelin.  
  
***  
  
In the center of a silent, deserted road running through an Omaha cornfield, Sam and Dean Winchester stood back to back. They held their breath, listening, looking back and forth, up and down the long stretch of black asphalt.  
  
“I _know_ I heard it,” Sam whispered through his teeth.  
  
“Just don’t look at it.” Dean pressed his shoulders into his brother’s back and raised his silver bullet loaded shotgun up to eye level. “Squint your eyes and aim,” he whispered. “But don’t let it fix you with its gaze.”  
  
“I know,” Sam hissed. “I was on that last black dog hunt, dude. I’m the one that figured out where it was, remember?”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes, but he did recall that particular detail. Sammy had been two months off his eighteenth birthday then. Two months from breaking and running and leaving Dean alone with Dad to endure three of the most disturbing weeks of his young life. The events that took place during those days had never been mentioned again between John Winchester and his oldest son. Sam knew nothing about them at all. And if Dean had his way, he never would.  
  
Dean turned his head and spoke softly against Sam’s neck. “Anything?”  
  
Sam shook his head.   
  
“Maybe we should split up.”  
  
“No way, man. Black dogs always attack from behind—you know that. Stay put.” Sam raised his own shotgun and aimed, sweeping back and forth across the road ahead of him.  
  
“We could be here all night,” Dean complained.  
  
“Don’t worry.” Sam stiffened slightly. “We won’t be.”   
  
Then Dean heard it, too. Distant but utterly distinct—the rhythmic clicking of jagged claw-like toenails on the gritty road.  
  
“Shhhit,” Dean muttered, his heart racing. Adrenalin made all the night-muted colors and sounds around them crisper, brighter and he scanned the dark road in a wide circle. “Where the fuck is it?!”  
  
Sam pushed back into him and Dean heard the telltale click of the safety being switched off on Sam’s shotgun. In the next instant a huge explosion tore through the silent corn field and Sam’s shoulders thumped backward into Dean’s from the report. Dean spun around, pressing his arm into Sam’s and they froze for a moment, guardedly watching the shadowy hump collapsed in the middle of the road. In the moonless night, they couldn’t make out all its features from where they stood, but it was clearly the creature they’d been hunting.  
  
The size of a large bull calf, the black dog—or Barghest, as it was sometimes known—lay in a shuddering heap on the asphalt. Smoke rose from what was left of its enormous head.   
  
“Sammy, we need to shoot ol’ Rex here in the heart, not in the face.” Dean said.   
  
“He was _lookin’_ at me!” Sam griped. “I freaked.” He crouched, gun held forward, and crept toward the flinching beast in the road.   
  
Dean followed, keeping a wary eye on their prey. “Cover his ugly ass, I’m goin’ for his ticker.” He released the safety on his own gun, then walked around the front of the beast while Sam flanked its back. “If he even twitches, plug him.”  
  
“With pleasure.” Sam stood off to the side a bit to give Dean a clear shot at the black dog’s heart.   
  
Dean aimed carefully then glanced at his brother. “You’ll want to step back as far as you can, Sammy. They explode, remember?”  
  
Sam’s nose wrinkled in disgust and he nodded, then he took two steps back, but he kept tight aim on the creature with his weapon. Dean aimed, clenched his jaw and then squeezed the trigger.   
  
A bright flash cut the inky night and then the black dog burst into a wet cloud of blood, fur, flesh and bone that liberally splattered both Winchester boys.  
  
“Man,” Dean whined, wiping a smear of the creature’s remains off his forehead. “I freakin’ HATE that.”  
  
Sam put his gun down on the asphalt and peeled his gore-soaked jacket off, holding it away from him with pinched fingers. “Okay,” he grimaced. “That’s just nasty.”  
  
Dean tucked his weapon into the back of his jeans then pulled a small tin of lighter fluid out of the pocket of his leather. Walking around the bloody wreckage that used to be a wicked black dog, he doused the greasy mess with the accelerant. Sam produced a container of rock salt from his own filthy jacket and sprinkled the pellets on top of the lighter fluid.  
  
“Do the honors?” Dean said, holding out his Zippo.  
  
Sam took the lighter, flipped it open, struck the flint and bent down to touch the flame to the pool of lighter fluid. They both watched as the fire caught quickly, licking out across the road until it found every chunk of salt and exploded corpse.  
  
“Barbequed dog hair,” Dean muttered, fanning the air in front of his nose. “Now _that’s_ appetizing.”  
  
Sam shook his jacket petulantly, wincing away from the flying clumps of dog. “Why do hell hounds have to blow up? Can’t they _implode_ or evaporate?”  
  
“Aw, Sammy. Where’s the fun in that?” Dean frowned at his filthy clothes. “I don’t want either of our skuzzy asses sitting in my car.” He eyed the last few flames as they winked out over the charred remains of the black dog. “Are we satisfied this job is done?”  
  
Sam took a few steps around the smoldering pool of black grease and then he nodded once. “That’s one dead dog.”  
  
“Good. Let’s shag ass to the nearest shower, ‘cuz we be funky.” He headed down the road to where they’d left the Impala tucked into the rows of corn and mostly out of sight. Before getting into the car, he popped the trunk to unload their weapons and to get out a canvas tarp he kept back there for the inevitable times they found themselves covered in some form of heinous gunk. Sam took the tarp and set about the task of laying it across the front seat while Dean secured the shotguns in the trunk. Finally, they piled into the car and started back to their motel.  
  
Sam fished his phone out of his pants’ pocket and scanned the list of contacts for their father’s cell number. Dean scowled at the road while he waited to see if John Winchester would answer the call.  
  
“Dad?” Sam said after a few seconds. “It’s Sam. Yeah . . . we’re fine. The Barghest is down--salted and torched. Yeah, he’s here. Yeah . . . hang on.” He handed the phone to Dean who tucked it under his ear so he could hold onto the wheel.  
  
“Yes, sir.”  
  
“Hey, kiddo,” John said, his voice scraped and mellow. Dean knew from experience that meant his father was behind more than a few shots of Jim Beam. “You okay?”  
  
“Other than being caked with detonated hell hound, we’re good. How are you?”  
  
“Yeah,” John said. “Black dogs make a mess. I’m fine, Dean. Listen . . . I’m following a lead that’s going to have me incommunicado for a few days. Why don’t you and Sammy take some time off so I don’t have to worry about you?”  
  
Dean frowned. “That goes both ways, Dad. Whatever it is, let us help.”  
  
John sighed into the phone and Dean heard him take another drink. “I just can’t. But it would mean a lot to me if you two would lay low for a couple days.” He paused, sighed again. “Please, Dean.”  
  
Glancing over at his brother, he let out a sigh of his own. “All right, we’ll try. But if something comes up . . . we’ve got a job to do.”  
  
“I know,” John said. “Just . . . try not to piss anything off until you hear from me. Okay?”  
  
“What’s going on, Dad?”  
  
John Winchester took a deep breath and his oldest son held his own.   
  
“Missouri thinks . . . we’ve attracted a guardian.”   
  
Dean looked over at Sam with his eyes wide. “A guardian? Why does she think that?”  
  
“That Porsche,” Sam said quietly, his eyes widening, as well.  
  
Dean nodded, but listened for his father.   
  
“Her guides are telling her we’re being watched but we don’t know what for,” John said. “And I’ve already seen this entity, myself.”  
  
“In a black Porsche?” Dean said.  
  
“God,” John groaned. “You’ve seen it, too?”  
  
“It blew by us on the road earlier today.”  
  
“ _Today?_ ” John said. “At what time?”  
  
“What time did we see that thing?” he asked Sam who then did a quick calculation in his head.   
  
“It was around 4:30 . . . Central Standard time.”  
  
Dean repeated this information to their father.  
  
“Wow,” John mused. “It went from me to you in an instant. Probably rode my thoughts like a telephone wire.”  
  
Dean glanced down at the readout on Sam’s cell phone to see if he could tell where his father was calling from. Sam nudged him.  
  
“I called him,” he whispered. “It’ll just show him ‘roaming’.”  
  
“Right.” Dean tried to ignore the historic irony in that and brought the phone back to his ear. “Did you see its face? If it even has one.”  
  
“No,” John said. “It tried to run me down in a cross walk. Missouri called me just in time. Where did you boys see it?”  
  
“Just outside of Omaha on a rural road,” Dean explained. “It was a little while after you and I spoke.” He glanced over at Sam and his little brother flashed a secretive smile, both boys remembering fondly what they were doing before the Porsche found them.   
  
Dean continued his report. “There was no one on the road at all and then this black Porsche was right on our ass. It followed us for a minute, then pulled alongside and paced us. We didn’t see the driver before it blasted off out of sight.”  
  
Their father let out a ragged breath. “All right. It’s found all of us, so . . . now there’s not much we can do until it shows itself again.”  
  
“Dad,” Dean said, swallowing. “What’s it guarding?”  
  
“That’s what I’m trying to find out, son. It didn’t threaten you and Sam?”  
  
“Not exactly. Harassed is a better word. It seemed like it was just . . . letting us know it saw us.”  
  
Dean heard his father take another drink. “Lay low, Dean. You and Sammy. I’ll contact you when I have some answers but until then—just hole up somewhere and stay still. Do you understand?”  
  
Dean’s jaw tightened and then that tightness moved to his chest, making him feel like his ribs were shrinking. He took a breath and started to speak but Sam reached for the phone and took it from him.  
  
“Dad?” Sam said. “It’s Sam. What’s going on?” He listened with his brow knit in deep creases. “But . . . yeah. I know, but . . .” He huffed a frustrated sigh. “Why won’t you let us help you? Dad, no—it doesn’t!”  
  
Dean rolled his eyes and stared at the road ahead while he listened to his brother and father grapple once more. Even though he hated it when they knocked heads, it was strangely comforting to hear the noise of them struggling again. Sort of like putting on a favorite worn out t-shirt.  
  
The tug of war went on for another few minutes and finally John Winchester threw down the gauntlet. Dean could hear his father’s voice through the phone all the way over in the driver’s seat. He bellowed and insisted that the boys stay put somewhere and not do another job until they heard from him again. Sam argued, yelled back his stubborn protest and John’s voice got louder, deeper.   
  
“I mean it, Sam!” Dean heard him say. “Do as your told, dammit. This is not a game! Put your brother back on the phone.”  
  
Sam shoved the phone out and Dean took it, pressing it to his ear.   
  
He took a deep breath before he spoke. “Yes, sir.”  
  
John was breathing hard on the other end and it took him a minute to reply. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “That kid’s gonna be the death of me.”  
  
“Yep,” Dean said. “You two are quite a pair.” He glanced over at Sam but his younger brother was glaring accusingly out at the black night.  
  
“I’ll be in touch as soon as I can,” John said. “Promise me you’ll stay down until then.”  
  
A shooting star caught Dean’s gaze in the dark sky above the Chevy. He watched its quick trek along the horizon and then it winked out into oblivion. Somewhere deep in his heart, John and Mary’s oldest boy made a wish.  
  
“I promise, Dad.”  
  
John sighed. “Thank you. Take care of Sammy. And tell him . . .”  
  
“I’ll tell him,” Dean said softly. “Call us as soon as you can. Be careful.” He pressed the button that disconnected the call then handed back Sam’s phone.   
  
“Tell me what?” Sam snarled.  
  
Dean took a breath, shifted in the driver’s seat and frowned. “That he loves your bull-headed ass.”  
  
Sam sighed. “ _I’m bull-headed_?! Jesus.” He slumped down in the passenger seat and glared out the window again. In the next instant, he slammed his arms crossed over his chest.  
  
Dean couldn’t help but chuckle. “You two are like freakin’ five-year-olds.”  
  
“Whatever,” Sam snapped. “Why can’t he just tell us what he knows? It affects us, too!”  
  
Shaking his head, Dean looked back up into the starry black night. “It’s just his way, Sammy. He needs to feel like he’s in control of something—in this case, whatever information he has about our new buddy.”  
  
“Dean, don’t you think WE should be clued in on that? What if next time it tries something much _more_ than just annoying us on some deserted road?”  
  
“Well,” Dean said and he offered his agitated brother a playful, tilted grin. “If it comes at us with guns blazin’, we’ll just have to acquaint it with the unique and sultry charms of the Winchester men. In other words, we’ll smoke its stinkin’ hell beastie ass.”  
  
Sam blinked but he was obviously still cranky, so Dean nudged him one more time.  
  
“By the way, dude,” he said, his voice alluring and husky. “Your fried dog cologne is totally givin’ me wood.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Wanna make out?”   
  
Sam’s brow smoothed and he released a reluctant laugh. “Not ‘til you bathe, dude. You reek.”  
  
He knew he’d played the right card by the way Sam’s body visibly relaxed. He gave Sam a wink, then focused on the road again. He could see cars whooshing by on the interstate up ahead and he knew they were safe—for the time being.   
  
  
***  
  
Back at their motel, the boys stripped out of their filthy clothes right where they stood and tossed them in a pile behind the door. Sam scowled at the streaks of dried dog blood running up his arms and he headed for the bathroom to turn on the shower. Before going in to join him, Dean did a quick check of his cell phone. All quiet. Sam’s jacket hung over the back of a chair and Dean rummaged in the pockets until he found the container of rock salt. Carefully, he spread a line of the crystals in front of the door and along the window sills, then he made sure everything was locked up tight. Tossing the salt container into his bag, he followed Sam into the bathroom.  
  
Steam billowed from the large white shower stall and Sam was leaning in, adjusting the temperature of the water with the faucet handles. For a moment, Dean just stood behind him and took in the view. Sam’s naked skin was youthfully pink on his thighs and butt cheeks but his lean-muscled back, belly and arms were nicely bronzed by the sun. Dean pictured his tongue sliding along Sammy’s vulnerable spine all the way up to those silky curls at his nape. He could almost smell their musky sweetness, that warm, earthy scent that belonged only to his little brother. Dean smiled, thinking about all the times he’d fallen asleep or had an orgasm nuzzling those satiny curls. Just the thought of them made his cock stir.  
  
Sensing the presence behind him, Sam glanced back. He smirked when he saw Dean’s expression. “Dude, you’ve seen me naked a zillion times. Can’t be that interesting.”  
  
“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Dean murmured. He stepped forward and placed his hands on Sam’s narrow hips, caressing the tender skin there with his fingers. He pressed his chest into his brother’s back and let him feel the heat of Dean’s growing erection. “I never get tired of seeing you naked, Sammy,” he whispered. “It’s one of my life’s greatest pleasures.”   
  
Sam shook his head and stepped out of Dean’s grasp momentarily so he could get into the shower. “Come on, man. Let’s get this crap off us first.” He reached for his brother’s hands and guided him into the streaming hot water and Dean rolled the shower door closed after them.   
  
Slowly, carefully, they washed each other from head to toe, making sure to eliminate every bit of the hell hound’s remains. The water pressure was blissfully hard, aiding them in their task. Sam unwrapped one of the tiny white bars the motel left in the soap dish and gently pinned Dean to the tile wall. He rubbed the bar between his wet palms until he had a good lather, then he stroked the suds into his brother’s skin. Dean let himself be bathed, gratefully relaxing under Sam’s safe, sensual touch.  
  
Sam’s long fingers pressed deliciously, kneading Dean’s skin, caressing it, bringing up the sensation together with the pounding hot water. Sam’s tongue slipped into the tender crevice behind Dean’s right ear and licked up and down a few times before moving to the lobe. Dean sighed when Sam sucked that soft bit of flesh into his hungry mouth, shivering at the precarious brush of his brother’s front teeth. His cock lengthened and shuddered, bumping gently into the wet wall.  
  
“Oooh, Sammy,” he purred in appreciation, letting his head drop back onto Sam’s shoulder.   
  
Sam sucked his earlobe noisily in response, knowing Dean loved the sound of sucking. Right in his ear like that, the sound was so erotic it made him lightheaded.   
  
Those fingers massaged Dean’s firm butt cheeks, stroking the skin and downy blond hairs with creamy lather. The heat from the water and his brother’s confident, insistent touch had Dean’s mind coasting and blissfully blank. For that moment, he was a creature of sensation and pleasure, not a spring-loaded trained killer of things that went bump in the night. For that moment, Dean belonged to no cause or purpose, to no calling or destiny. There was no threatening entity lurking under the bed, in the closet or outside in the oppressive night. He was simply floating in Sam’s arms like a carefree rag doll.  
  
His brother’s large hands caressed Dean’s hips, rubbing soap in wide circles on his way around to the front. Sam stroked Dean’s belly and chest, gently working suds into the sensitive skin under his arms. All the while, he sucked and licked Dean’s earlobe, Sam’s own breath picking up speed as his arousal grew. Sammy had always been intensely oral. Dean remembered his father having a great deal of trouble breaking his youngest of thumb sucking. Even after he did, Sammy just found other things to suck.   
  
Once when Dean was only seven, his father woke him from a deep sleep so he could pull Sammy away from him. In a drowsy fog, Dean was barely aware of the reason for this. Three-year-old Sammy had got Dean’s pajama top open and had been greedily sucking at his nipples. There were little teeth marks around the tender skin and his nipples were red and swollen. John had smoothed a sweet smelling lotion on the rough spots, explaining to Dean in a soft voice that Sammy had been doing that because he’d lost his mother before he was weaned. It was an instinct, Sammy hadn’t meant to hurt his brother. Half asleep, Dean had murmured that he wasn’t at all hurt and then slipped back into dreamland. What he’d really been thinking was how he’d loved the way that sucking felt. Twenty years later, Dean Winchester still loved it.  
  
Under the thrumming shower water, Sam pressed his body into Dean’s from behind. Dean lifted his hips backward, giving his brother’s cock access to the warm, soapy space between his legs. Sam let out a shaky, excited moan and thrust forward, his stiff cock hot and demanding against Dean’s inner thighs and balls. Sam’s hands clutched Dean’s chest, digging in just a little too hard--but Dean didn’t mind. His body was so sensitive then that any stimulation was welcome. He tightened his thigh muscles to create more friction for Sam to stroke into and then he guided one of Sam’s hands down to his throbbing cock.   
  
He felt Sam trembling against him and Dean moaned, knowing how much this specific contact was arousing his brother. Dean tingling all over from the onslaught of pleasures. Sam’s fingers worked on his cock, stroking, tugging, gently bouncing until Dean was shuddering on the brink of release. Suddenly, Sam let go and his hand moved down Dean’s hip to his butt cheeks. Dean felt his brother reach between Dean’s legs and then he felt the length of Sam’s cock pressed hard into the tense skin just below his balls. Sam rubbed his cock between Dean’s body and his own hand in long, deep plunges that became increasingly erratic as he neared orgasm. At one point, he pulled back just a little too far and the head of his pulsing cock pushed against Dean’s tender anus. The older Winchester was so turned on by then that he didn’t flinch away--but he did turn his head so he could speak in his brother’s ear.  
  
“Not yet, Sammy,” he gasped.  
  
“I’m sorry, I just slipped,” Sam panted and then he tilted his hips so he could continue thrusting between Dean’s tight thighs. His right hand found Dean’s cock again and his fingers resumed their knowing work.  
  
The climax snatched them both in the same moment and they shouted together, arching and bucking into each other as the hot water pounded down on them. Their guttural cries echoed in the misty shower stall, swirling around them with the fragrant steam. For an instant, Dean felt like he was falling and he grabbed for Sam’s arm, pulling it around his waist like a lifeline. His little brother squeezed against him, his right hand slipping away from Dean’s cock and stroking back up his belly, soothing and calming him. Dean closed his eyes and tried to catch his breath, smiling a little as he felt the tickle of Sam’s thick ejaculate dripping down his left thigh.   
  
Sam wrapped both arms around Dean’s torso and held on, pressing his hot cheek into the close-cropped hairs on Dean’s neck. They stood like that for a long time, just breathing in and out until they were both steady. Against the earlobe he’d been sucking moments before, Sam whispered.  
  
“I wasn’t being pushy. I really just slipped.”  
  
“I know,” Dean said. “I’m gettin’ there, Sammy . . . just be patient.”  
  
He felt Sam nod against him and then there were soft, urgent kisses being pressed into his neck and shoulders, each one a tiny act of contrition.   
  
“Sammy, it’s okay . . .” he murmured, turning around in his brother’s arms.   
  
Sam kissed his lips, then his throat, then both his cheeks and his eyelids before finally resting his forehead against Dean’s. Taking his little brother’s face into his hands, Dean kissed his warm pink lips tenderly.   
  
“I’ll tell you when I’m ready, okay?”  
  
In response, Sam kissed him again and then he reached for the faucet and turned off the water.  
  
Dean watched his brother get out of the steamy shower stall and grab a towel off the rack over the toilet. He stood there for a moment just taking in the view of that tall, graceful young body. Sam rubbed at his hair with the towel, then quickly dried his skin before tying the towel around his lean waist and heading out to the bedroom. Dean stepped out of the shower and grabbed himself a towel, but instead of drying off, he took it with him and followed Sam. He could tell his brother was still feeling uneasy and Dean knew just how to distract him.  
  
“You know what I was just thinking about?” he said, strolling over to where Sam was sitting on the end of one of the king size beds. He’d just turned on the television and was squinting at the local news. When Dean approached him, he quirked a smile.  
  
“Your deep seeded desire to drip water all over a motel room rug?” Sam’s eyes glimmered with amusement.  
  
Dean stood in front of him naked, glistening beautifully and knowing it. He could see the television light playing in the drops that clung to the golden skin on his belly. Water ran down his legs in warm rivulets, puddling on the dull blueish rug at his bare feet. He held the towel out for his brother and offered the seductive, tilted grin Dean knew always worked—with Sam or with anyone. The desired result was had and quickly. Sam’s eyes drank in the image of his brother’s body with fresh lust and he licked his lips.   
  
“I was remembering this one time when you were only three years old,” Dean said.  
  
“Uh huh.” Sam took the towel and opened it wide, gently patting it across Dean’s firm belly.   
  
“Dad woke me up so he could pull you off me.”  
  
Sam’s brow knit briefly. “What could I have been doing at that age that was so bad?” He slid the towel over Dean’s chest, taking care not to press too hard on the nipples with the rough fabric. He knew Dean was very sensitive. From there, he moved down over Dean’s shoulders, gently rubbing the drops off the golden hairs that decorated his forearms. “And don’t tell me I was humping your leg. I know that didn’t start until much later.”   
  
Dean grinned and his fingers found the wet curls at the back of Sam’s neck. “No, but you were sucking on my nipples like you meant to chew ‘em off.”   
  
His little brother blushed, laughing shyly. “Oh. I bet Dad _loved_ that.” He brought the towel around to Dean’s back, leaning forward so he could see what he was doing. Sam rested his cheek against Dean’s ribs while he slowly dried his smooth flanks. “Three years old and I was already a pervert. He must’ve been so proud.”  
  
Dean chuckled. “I don’t think that’s why you were doing it, Sammy. I remembered Dad telling me it was because you lost Mom before you were weaned.” He stroked Sam’s wet hair, ruffling the long bangs and smoothing them back away from his brow. He looked down into Sam’s eyes—moss green just like his own—and smiled sexily. “You used to put me to sleep doing that when we were both little.”  
  
“Me sucking your nipples put you to sleep?” Sam’s eyebrows lifted.  
  
“Then,” Dean smirked.   
  
Laughing, Sam said, “that SO doesn’t work anymore. Now it makes you so horny, you climb me like a tree when I do it.”  
  
Dean chuckled and scratched his nails gently through Sam’s hair at the top of his head in that way he knew his brother liked. “Yeah . . . I guess I am a kinda fetishy about that one thing.”  
  
“That one thing?” Sam teased, eyes wide. “You think you’re only fetishy about that _one little thing_?”  
  
Dean’s brow knit in comic confusion. “Well . . . what else?”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “How about if I shave my head, Dean?”   
  
They grinned at each other.   
  
“All right, all right,” Dean said and his fingers indulged in Sam’s curls again.  
  
“Well, I certainly have no room to talk.” Sam brought the towel back to Dean’s torso, rubbing it gently into his golden pubic hair. He dried the hairs carefully, even fluffed them a little, then he pressed his nose into the densest section, just above the root of Dean’s cock. For a moment he just breathed in and out with his eyes closed and his lips parted. His hot breath tickled Dean’s sensitive skin, making him tug at Sam’s hair. Sam nuzzled and sniffed, turning his head this way and that, his cute nose burrowing deep into those clean, coarse, dark gold hairs.   
  
So soon after an orgasm, arousal crept up on Dean slowly—but it came on very persistent feet. His cock swelled against Sam’s chin, heating up with his brother’s breath and lengthening until it lifted toward the hot skin of Sam’s cheek. His fingers raked gently through Sam’s wet hair, teasing the scalp and carding through the chestnut locks until Sam sighed from the shivers. Dean was fully erect again and his cock tingled deliciously as his brother’s lips opened along the tense shaft, just above his balls. Sam’s tongue wet his lips and the base of Dean’s cock and then he slid that tongue and those lips very slowly all the way up to the head. His green eyes were glassy with lust and then he grinned mischievously and pulled away.  
  
“Awww,” Dean protested. “Don’t be like that.”  
  
Sam scooted backward on the bed until he reached the pillows at the headboard. Reclining against them, he tugged his own towel off his waist and chucked it onto the floor in front of the night table. With his left hand, he gently toyed with his growing erection and he beckoned his brother with his curled right index finger.  
  
“Want that sucked?” he purred.  
  
Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Am I breathing?”  
  
“Bring it over here, then.”   
  
Grinning, Dean tipped forward and crawled like a big cat across the mattress until he was straddling Sam’s outstretched thighs. The boys looked at each other for a long moment, green eyes twinkling with their usual playful dance of seduction. Dean raised up on his knees and lifted his heavy, throbbing cock with his hand, offering it like a gift to Sam’s warm mouth.   
  
“Want me to feed it to you?” he whispered.  
  
Sam shook his head slowly, that impish smirk intensifying. He sat up and pressed his face into the center of Dean’s belly, opening his mouth wide enough to extend his tongue. In a long, slow lick, he wet the golden hairs just beneath Dean’s navel, then he lapped them again and again. Dean’s nipples tightened and he bit his bottom lip, watching his brother’s tongue stroking his skin in that wanton, greedy way.  
  
“You just washed every inch of me in the shower, Sammy,” he teased. “Literally. Is a tongue bath really necessary?”  
  
“Shhhhh,” Sam murmured, his eyes sliding closed as he licked those wet hairs again. “Don’t bother me, it’s my turn to fetish.”  
  
Dean laughed softly and his fingers slid into Sammy’s silky wet hair again. “I’ve always wondered what the big deal was for you about those hairs. You don’t get the shivers about any of my other body hair.”  
  
Sam’s eyes opened half way and for a moment he stopped his wet ministrations. “Dean, I’ve got a fetish about ninety percent of your body. I think the only part of you that doesn’t give me instant wood is your toenails.”  
  
Dean pouted. “But I have gorgeous toenails.”  
  
“That’s got nothing to do with it,” Sam said. “You forget that every single one of my original sexual experiences happened with you. Therefore, every single thing that I’ve come to enjoy sexually is in direct relation to you. If I’m with a girl, I can’t even _get off_ unless I think about you, Dean.”  
  
“Not even with Jess?” Dean asked quietly, and then instantly wished he hadn’t.  
  
Sam looked away and for a second, his handsome face clouded with sadness. He shook his head slightly, probably to clear that emotion way, then he wet his lips again. Leaning so far forward that his chest pressed into Dean’s thighs, his tongue slid out and tasted those golden hairs again. “Not even with Jess,” he finally said. “But she knew about you and me.”  
  
Dean’s eyebrows arched up. “Come again?”  
  
Sam smirked, glanced at his brother’s hard cock. “I was trying to and then you started all this yacking.”  
  
Dean ignored the protest. “Dude, are you telling me that you TOLD Jessica about our . . . uh . . . about this stuff?”  
  
“Not intentionally,” Sam said. “It . . . just happened.”  
  
“How does something like that _just happen_?”  
  
Groaning, Sam flopped back on the pillows. “Can we talk about this later? I was really enjoying myself for a minute. Don’t be a buzz kill.”  
  
Dean lowered his chin and pursed his lips, sighing irritably. He knew he shouldn’t let Sam off the hook, but he relented anyway. Sure, he was irked and sure they would have to hash through the details of how his brother broke one of their sacred oaths, but that could wait. He could feel the air cooling the wet skin on his belly and he wanted it warmed again. In the big picture, some things were just more important than others.   
  
“All right,” he said. “Come back here, fetish boy. Your hairs are getting cold.”  
  
Sam’s grin was a little too smug for Dean’s liking. It said ‘of course you’re doing what I want. You’re my bitch.’ Dean hated that it was a little bit true so he let the annoying grin pass. His brother sat up again and resumed his position with his nose buried in Dean’s tummy. Within seconds, that kinky sucking and licking resumed and Sam Winchester was purring like a kitten. Dean pet him like one, too, sighing as the damp chestnut hair tickled his own erotic nerve center.  
  
Even though his cock was itching for attention, Dean couldn’t help feeling a tingling satisfaction just from watching his brother feast on his tummy. Sam’s eyelashes fluttered and his teeth came out, gently grazing the edge of Dean’s navel. He covered the tender flesh there with his open lips and sucked hard, making Dean draw in a quick surprised breath. He could feel Sam’s mouth pulling and pulling at the skin while his hot tongue kept working over those hairs he loved so much. Sam’s nose was tucked into the indentation of his brother’s navel and vaguely Dean wondered if he could breathe all right.   
  
Sam didn’t seem to care about such trivialities. He mashed his face into Dean’s belly, his fingers reaching up to dig into the flesh of his tense backside. Dean shivered from the sounds and sensation of the rough sucking, from the strangely carnal feeling of being eaten alive. His breath hitched in his chest. He knew he was getting the mother of all hickeys that would likely take a week to disappear. No matter. He’d just call it a battle wound if anyone asked. Not that anyone would. For months, his little brother had been the only person to see Dean Winchester naked and that was just fine with them both.  
  
Over their years of pleasuring each other, the boys had mastered a myriad of clever ways to multi-task. Sam’s current goal was to suck those hairs until his psychological association with them made him come but he also knew he had to take care of Dean’s eager erection. With his eyes closed, Sam’s long-fingered right hand covered Dean’s cock and warmed it gently. The pads of his fingers stroked the leaking head, teasing out a few more squirts of his natural lubricant. Dean moaned and tugged Sam’s hair, encouraging him to continue.   
  
With his mouth working hard on his brother’s belly, Sam spread his slick fingers around Dean’s cock and rubbed it with just enough force to match his own growing arousal. Dean could feel Sam trembling and his soft, breathy moans had become an almost constant hum. He sucked so hard it actually hurt, but Dean knew better than to stop him. Better to just relax and enjoy. His cock tingled and kicked under Sam’s fingers and he moaned deep in his throat from the delicious jumble of pleasure and pain. The boys swayed together, breathing in time, unconsciously pacing each other toward the finish line.   
  
Sam shuddered under his hands and his moaning rose to a whimpering whine. Dean looked down just in time to see his brother’s cheeks infuse with blood and his eyes squeeze tightly closed. He couldn’t see below Sam’s waist because of their proximity but he still knew the very second his brother came. Sam’s teeth clamped on the flesh of Dean’s belly, gnawing at the wet hairs and torturing the skin beneath. At the same time, Sam’s fingers tightened just enough around Dean’s hard cock and his balls vibrated with the first spasm of climax. He panted and moaned, his eyes fixed on Sam’s face as he all but chewed Dean’s flesh through his orgasm. Sam’s fist curled around Dean’s spurting cock, stroking it through blast after tingling blast.   
  
For a second, Dean’s eyes slid closed and when he opened them again, he almost laughed out loud. Sam was fully engrossed in the ebb of his climax and he hadn’t even noticed that Dean had sprayed the side of his face and his hair with thick, creamy semen. Dean waited until his brother calmed somewhat before he gently pried Sam’s mouth away from that sore spot on his belly. The kid’s lips pulled away with a reluctant smack and a little frown creased Sam’s sweaty forehead.   
  
“Aww,” he groaned petulantly.  
  
“Sammy, you almost broke the skin.” Dean peered at the spot where his brother had been sucking and grimaced.   
  
Sam looked at what he’d done and drew in a quick breath. “Oh my god, dude. I’m sorry.”   
  
Dean shook his head, dismissing the mild injury. He pushed Sam’s shoulders until he laid back on the bed and Dean stretched out alongside him. He reached over the edge of the bed and retrieved the towel Sam had tossed away, folding it up to half its size.  
  
“Come here, you little vampire,” he said, turning Sam’s face toward him.   
  
“What?” Sam said and Dean lips spread in a Cheshire grin.  
  
“You don’t feel that?” He nodded to the slick milky smears still clinging to his brother’s face and clumping in his hair.   
  
Sam reached up with his fingers and touched the moisture on his cheek, then he laughed. “Dude, you totally spooged me!”  
  
Dean laughed, too, then reached forward with the towel. Sam let him clean the cooling seed off his face, watching Dean’s eyes the whole time like he was seeing something new about them. As he wiped away a streak near his brother’s nose, Sam took in a deep breath.  
  
“God,” he sighed reverently. “I love the way your come smells.”  
  
Dean leaned forward and covered Sam’s mouth with a deep, wet kiss, plunging his tongue in far enough so they couldn’t taste anything but each other. When he pulled back, he brushed light kisses over Sam’s lips and cheeks and then he brought the towel to his brother’s hair.  
  
“You even got my hair?” Sam chuckled.  
  
“Wasn’t my fault!” Dean blushed slightly as he rubbed the towel in Sam’s damp locks, trying to extract as much of his ejaculate as he could. The seed had started to dry a little, clumping the soft hair into stiff bunches. “We might have to wash your hair again.”  
  
“Nah,” Sam said and his hands came up to his head. He worked his fingers through the sticky places in his hair over and over again, separating them until they laid in smooth tendrils. “It’s just like a deep conditioner,” he said, rolling toward Dean for another kiss. “And I get the added pleasure of smelling like you until I wash it out.”  
  
Sam stayed for another quick feast of kisses and then he got up and went to his bag that was sitting on the motel room dresser. He poked around until he found his shaving kit, then he zipped it open and took out a small blue bottle. He brought this back to the bed and straddled Dean’s outstretched legs.  
  
Dean watched while his brother opened the bottle and squeezed a dollop of pinkish cream onto his fingers. The scent of the lotion filled the room immediately—crisp and woodsy and a little bit sugary. Dean licked his lips. He liked that smell very much.  
  
“What is that?”  
  
“This girl I knew at Stanford used to make all these cool creams and soaps and stuff. I got addicted to this one because it smells like the forest. But it’s really good lotion, too.” He gently spread the cream on the reddened skin below Dean’s navel, taking care to smooth it in thoroughly.  
  
“I don’t know how much help that’ll be for the world’s most humongous hickey,” Dean said, but he was smiling when Sam looked at him.   
  
“Does it hurt?” his brother asked softly.  
  
“It stings a little, but in a good way.” Dean reached out and caressed Sam’s chest with the backs of his fingers, gently tickling the pink nipples with his nails. “You were so into that, dude,” he murmured. “It was totally hot watching you.”  
  
Sam’s cheeks colored as he finished applying the sweet smelling lotion. He bent down and kissed the sore spot lovingly, then he set the little blue bottle on the nightstand. “I guess I got a little carried away—both here and in the shower. Sorry.” He stretched out next to Dean, snuggling close for warmth. Dean’s arms came around him, one under his neck, the other around his ribs, drawing his brother in.  
  
“Don’t worry about it, man,” Dean said. “You’re probably just all wound up from the hunt. Killing evil things gets the motor goin’, that’s for sure.”  
  
“It’s not about that,” Sam said, his cheek resting against Dean’s chest.  
  
Dean turned his face into Sam’s still damp hair and nuzzled, breathing in his brother’s delicious scent. “What is it, then?”  
  
For a long time, Sam didn’t answer. He lay still in Dean’s arms, softly tracing lines over the plain of his brother’s chest. Dean thought he might be writing words, but he couldn’t tell what they were. Finally, Sam looked at him and his pretty eyes were misty.  
  
“I think I need to be closer to you, Dean,” he said in a small voice. “I mean, I know we spend every waking moment together and everything and the other stuff is . . . great. Don’t get me wrong. It’s just . . . I feel like there’s something missing. Like we’re not working at our full potential because we’re not . . . fully connected.”  
  
Dean frowned thoughtfully, touching his forehead to Sam’s. “Okay,” he said. “And you think goin’ that extra mile sexually will fully connect us?”  
  
Sam blinked. “How could it not? I mean . . . just by the nature of it. Union.”  
  
Dean nodded slowly and then he sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to, Sammy—you know that, right?”  
  
“I know. I can feel it when I touch you.” Sam smiled very slightly and then he whispered. “I can tell you want to.”  
  
Dean winked at him, showing his agreement. “It’s just that . . .”  
  
“That stupid promise you made Dad, I know.”  
  
“It wasn’t stupid to him then,” Dean said. “He was really scared.”  
  
“Of what?” Sam snarked. “Scared we might make even _more_ noise in the middle of the night?”  
  
“He was scared for you . . .” Dean whispered. “He thought I was . . . forcing you.”  
  
“I know what he thought.” Sam’s tone was at once cold and protective. “And he was wrong. Besides, if that’s true and he was just concerned about me being molested, then all that’s moot at this point. John Winchester’s sons are both consenting adults now, not children.” Sam’s brow knit and he heaved a frustrated sigh. “Dad’s not even here, Dean. That promise is like a ghost that haunts you every time you touch me. I hate it. I want it to go away. This is what we do—it’s who we are. If we’re going to be here, we need to be on the same page.”  
  
Dean just looked at his brother, not sure what to say in response. Sam twitched from the long silence and tried to fill it with more convincing.  
  
“Don’t let Dad decide what’s right for us. You can still be a good soldier without being his bitch.”  
  
“Hey!” Dean barked, instantly angry.  
  
“You know what I mean,” Sam said, sheepishly lowering his gaze. “I don’t mean it like that. It’s just . . .” He looked up with the same imploring expression he’d always used when he felt like he wasn’t being understood. Dean had seen this expression his entire life, usually directed at their father. “I know you want to do right by him and that you want to honor your word—but that promise . . . no longer has any basis. That was about Dad being scared for his youngest kid. I’m no kid anymore.”  
  
“Okay,” Dean said and then he took a deep breath and sat up. He wrapped his arms around his bent knees, sitting for a long time just thinking. He remembered the moment in that diner when his terrified father had forced that promise. He remembered how shocked he’d been at the mere suggestion that he’d do such a thing to Sammy. Dean had always regarded their sexual relationship as something privileged and honorable. Of course he couldn’t explain that to his father—probably not even to Sam. But he knew how it made him feel to commune with his brother in that way. It made him feel strong and unique, invincible because he was chosen. It made him feel like a higher being.  
  
It unnerved Dean that his own desire to further their contact had grown intense enough for Sam to feel it. That meant it was practically consuming him, ever present. It felt like hunger, but unlike any hunger he’d ever experienced. It felt like he was somehow incomplete. Hearing Sam explain that he felt the same way brought the whole thing to another level. Instead of being a mere act of mutual pleasure, connecting in that way would somehow elevate them, enlighten them. This was something he knew in his soul. Sam did, too.  
  
Sam sat up beside him and put his arms around Dean’s shoulders. He rested his cheek in the bare nape of Dean’s neck and breathed out slowly. “I won’t hurt you,” he said.  
  
“I know that, baby brother. I just . . . need a little more time.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
Dean sighed, looking up into the mirror over the cheap particle board dresser. They were both there in the reflection, him looking straight ahead, Sam covering his back, eyes closed to the warmth of his brother’s body. He could see his mother in Sam’s profile and his father in the set of his own jaw. He could also see how very young they both were. Taking another breath, he tried to respond to Sam’s last question, but found he didn’t have the words. Sam seemed to sense this. He turned his head and looked at Dean’s reflection in the mirror, green eyes matching in the dusty glass.  
  
“Never mind,” Sam whispered. “Tell me later.”  
  
Dean pursed his lips and offered a quick nod into the mirror. Then he shifted and laid back into the pillows, opening his arm for Sam to curl up next to him. Once they were back in their most familiar position, Dean’s fingers found their beloved curls behind his brother’s neck.   
  
“Okay,” Dean said. “Now tell me about Jessica. Why did you tell her, Sammy?”  
  
Sam took a breath and released it in a long, slow sigh. “I didn’t tell her on purpose, Dean. This one night, after we’d been living together for about two weeks, I woke up wringing wet and she was sitting there on the bed—just looking at me. She wasn’t mad or anything, she was just—watching me.”  
  
Dean frowned, played with Sam’s curls and waited for him to go on.  
  
“I asked her what was going on and she said ‘you tell me, Sam.’ I was all disoriented cuz I just woke up and I said ‘what do you mean?’ And she said ‘who’s Dean and why does he make you come like that?’”  
  
“Like what?” Dean asked, playfully curious.  
  
“I didn’t know what she meant at first,” Sam said. “I sat up in bed and looked down at my pajamas—I was drenched, dude. I must’ve blown three huge loads. My shirt and my shorts were totally stuck to me. It was like a dam broke.”  
  
“How long had it been since we’d seen each other?”  
  
“I don’t know, a few months. Since that time you came when Dad didn’t know.”  
  
“He knew,” Dean said, not wanting to recall that unsettling time in their history. “He just never said anything about it.”  
  
“Well,” Sam said, snuggling closer to Dean’s body. “All I know is that it had been long enough that I was in full-on wet dream mode. Jess said I was thrashing around for almost half an hour, moaning your name and grinding into the bed. She said she woke up because she thought I needed an exorcist.”  
  
Dean chuckled sarcastically. “Little did she know how easily that could’ve been true.”  
  
“Right?” Sam laughed a little bitterly. “Anyway, so . . . there it was. It’s not like I could just lie and say something like ‘Dean, who?’ or whatever. I was soaked in the evidence that she’d seen happen with her own eyes. I had to tell her. What else could I do?”  
  
“What, exactly, did you say, Sam?”  
  
Sam looked at him with one eyebrow arched. “I told her that I had a sexual relationship with my big brother that had been going on since we were kids.”  
  
“That’s it?”  
  
“She asked for specifics, but I told her I’d rather not go into it. I said it was really personal.”  
  
“But she was your girlfriend,” Dean said. “You’re not supposed to keep secrets when you’re coupled up, dude. I’m surprised she didn’t kick you to the curb.”  
  
“Well,” Sam said, resting his head on Dean’s chest again. “Jess was special. She figured if I wanted to tell her, I would and then she would need to know. But she didn’t need to know unless I needed tell.”  
  
“You were a giant bag of secrets with her, Sammy,” Dean said softly.  
  
“She loved me,” his little brother whispered. “It didn’t matter.”  
  
Dean nodded slowly and then he kissed his brother’s forehead. “She never said anything about the whole . . . gay thing?”  
  
Sam laughed unexpectedly. “Dude, she actually thought it was kinda hot. I showed her your picture.”  
  
“What picture?” Dean said, knowing there were intentionally very few photographs around of any of the Winchester men.  
  
“That one where you’re standing by the Chevy after you just painted it. The one Dad took. He said you looked like James Dean in it.”  
  
“Oh,” Dean nodded. “I guess that’s cool. It’s a good picture.”  
  
“It’s gorgeous,” Sam said with a hint of annoyance. “The sunlight was killing itself to find all your gold parts. You were so pretty it was puke inducing.”   
  
Dean shook his head, blushing. “Shut up.”  
  
“Anyway, she saw you and was like ‘whoa, he’s really sexy.’ And then she tickled me and said ‘I wish I could see you two together. I bet I’d pass out from the hot.’”  
  
They both laughed like kids giggling at a girlie magazine.   
  
“Are you kidding?” Dean said. “She wasn’t totally grossed out?”  
  
“Not _even_.”  
  
“Damn.” He shook his head. “That’s amazing. I mean, if it was me and . . .”  
  
Sam picked up his thought with a teasing smirk. “And your girlfriend told you she was having a sexual relationship with her incredibly hot sister—you’d wanna watch, too, dude.”  
  
Dean cracked up. “Well, hell yeah! I guess I never thought of it like that.”  
  
“Makes sense,” Sam said. “If guys like watching two girls, why wouldn’t girls like watching two guys?”  
  
“Cuz . . . I don’t know. Girls are beautiful. Curvy and nice to look at.”  
  
“And guys aren’t nice to look at?” Sam said.  
  
Dean shrugged. “Well . . . _you_ are. And god knows this handsome bastard is.” He puffed up his chest a little then smirked.  
  
Sam smiled, shaking his head. “Well, there ya go.”  
  
“And there was that one guy who found it terribly interesting,” Dean mused. “Remember?”  
  
Sam Winchester sighed but his lips were tilted in an impish grin. “Oh, yeah. That was somethin’ else. I am so freakin’ glad Dad never found out about that.”  
  
“Yep,” Dean agreed. “We’ve sure been up to some shit in our short careers, Sammy-boy. No one can say we haven’t lived.” He reached between them and tugged at the rumpled blankets, drawing them up and over their legs. The boys shifted and cuddled until they found the right fit then Sam stared at the quietly flickering television.   
  
The news had ended and the local station was showing a rerun of “I Dream of Jeannie”. For a few minutes, the boys just laid there getting warm under the blankets and paying vague attention to the antics of the scantily clad Barbara Eden. Finally, Sam stirred and looked in his brother’s eyes.  
  
“What do you think the guardian wants from us?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “Not a clue. I mean, it’s not like we’re hiding some treasure or any relics. We’ve just got our weapons and ourselves. I can’t imagine what a guardian would be trying to take from us.”  
  
“Are they demons?” Sam asked. “I don’t know much about them.”  
  
“No, they’re minions of demons—usually earthbound. Sometimes spirits or even humans. I don’t think this one’s human, obviously, if it could get from where Dad was to where we were lickety-split like it did.” Dean frowned deeply. “I just can’t imagine what it would want. What could we have that it would need to take?”  
  
Sam frowned, as well. “Maybe it’s not a thing,” he said, softly. “Maybe it’s information or something intangible like that. Something we know, not something we can touch.”  
  
“Maybe,” Dean said. “Whatever it wants, Dad’ll find out. And then we’ll kill it and all will be right with the world.” He sat forward and grabbed the remote off the end of the bed, then settled back in under the covers.  
  
Sam snickered. “You crack me up, dude. You think killing things is the only logical response to any threat.”  
  
Dean winked at him. “Hey, shoot it, eat it or fuck it. That philosophy has carried me a long way through this life, Sammy.”  
  
“Okay, Ted Nugent.”  
  
Dean switched off the television and put the remote on the nightstand by his cell. He turned off the lamp there and glanced at his phone once more before turning on his side to snuggle into Sam’s warm body.   
  
In the dark quiet room they could hear the steady hum of the motel’s blue neon sign outside. Dean sighed and relaxed against his brother’s long naked limbs, that neon hum a familiar lullaby. Just as he was about to drift off, Sam whispered in his ear.  
  
“Are we really just gonna hide out here until we hear from Dad?”  
  
“Looks that way,” Dean murmured, warm, sated, nearly asleep.  
  
“What’re we supposed to do all day?”  
  
“Sammy,” he said, brushing his nose against the soft flesh of his brother’s neck. “I’m sure we’ll think of something. Go to sleep.” And in the next instant, Dean’s mind went blissfully blank and he relaxed into calm oblivion.  
  
  
The end (for now)


End file.
